


the green angle

by days4daisy



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Extra Treat, Is this Before the Movie? During? After? Who knows!, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: LeBlanc bee lines to the bar. He’s been waiting for Neil, and the protagonist would get up to intercept if not for Ives’ grip on his forearm. “Let him work,” Ives says.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	the green angle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cat2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Cat2000!

"All you, Neil."

It takes the protagonist of our story a moment to understand Ives' plan. He sees the entourage walk in, led by the American. Typical fat cat who wears his wealth like he just found it. Bit of a paunch around the middle. First to grab the pretty bar hand's attention.

The protagonist doesn't get what Ives means until Neil mumbles, "Well shit," and downs the rest of his drink. As soon as the vodka is gone, Neil aims a look at the bar. He smiles, sort of. A cursory look, clumsy as it is curious. He turns back to their table a second later, blinking as if he's missed something. The trap is set.

"I don't like it," the protagonist says. Ives smirks like he's being funny.

Neil waves off the sentiment. "They're teddy bears, the whole lot. It's harmless."

"They're all packing," he points out.

"Not uncommon in this profession," Neil reasons, shrugging.

"We don't even know if that's our guy. Just because a man thinks he's important doesn't mean he is."

"Profound," Ives deadpans.

"I'll say," Neil agrees. Brow quirked, he takes a fresh vodka tonic held out to him by a bar hand.

She smiles sweetly when she delivers it. "It's on Mister LeBlanc," she chirps, nodding at the bar.

"What a gift!" Neil is all cheer, and he toasts his glass across the room. A nod answers; slow, calculated, like most things with LeBlanc's type. After the bar hand departs, Neil mumbles, "At least I get a free drink off this deal."

"I don't like it," the protagonist repeats.

"You don't like anything," Ives grumbles.

Neil smiles. "I wonder." He gives Neil a look, but Neil is too busy sampling his fresh round to explain.

***

Talk at their table meanders off into nothing. With Ives’ plot in motion, conversation between them is secondary. Small talk replaces back and forth about the mission.

The only useful thread is about the building's layout, which it seems the others also did some homework on. Ives presents tidbits about the basement, complete with old storm drain exit. Neil expresses his usual interest in the security system. Five cameras in this room alone, and alarm triggers on every stairwell and elevator. “Looks like we’re monitoring everything that goes up or down, boys,” Neil says.

Ives gives him a nudge. “Or every _one_.”

“I don’t like it,” our protagonist says again, because it’s been awhile since he’s had his voice heard.

“Yes, we know,” Neil sighs. He gives his glass a shake; ice cubes jingle along the bottom. “Fancy that, I’m empty.”

“ _If_ you’re doing this,” the protagonist says, “you should slow down.”

Neil snorts. “I told you, teddy bears.”

“But not amateurs.”

Ives shrugs off the sentiment. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re here then, huh?”

“I’ll leave you two to settle it.” Neil rises from his seat. “Be back in a jiffy.”

Neil is off to the bar, ignoring Ives’ grumble. “Jiffy… Who the hell says that?”

He ignores Ives too, too focused on the fat cat LeBlanc rising like clockwork from his seat. LeBlanc's table and entourage sit mostly out of view, hidden behind the lounge's Grecian columns. But the protagonist sees LeBlanc, he has since LeBlanc first sent Neil a drink.

Now, LeBlanc beelines to the bar. He’s been waiting for Neil, and the protagonist would get up to intercept if not for Ives’ grip on his forearm. “Let him work,” Ives says. He shakes Ives off but sinks back in his chair, resigned. Its red satin cushion scrapes at his suit jacket.

Neil connects with LeBlanc at the counter. They exchange words. Neil laughs, one of his easy grins with a lazy elbow on the bar. He thinks he’s being discreet, hip ticked in LeBlanc’s direction. But his insinuation must be as obvious to LeBlanc as it would be to anyone with eyes. LeBlanc says something to the closest bar hand. Neil’s head stays down until their eye contact can resume. Then, he smiles and says something else.

“This can go sideways fast,” the protagonist says.

Ives sighs. “You don’t like it, we know. First sign of trouble, we pull out. All three of us. Until then, another round? Might help those nerves of yours.”

The protagonist snatches up his water by way of answering. A passing server refills it upon seconds of being set down. He doesn’t notice let alone offer thanks.

At the bar, shots are thrown back - straight vodka by the looks of it. A laugh follows from Neil, but LeBlanc doesn’t join. He does, however, set a hand over Neil’s on the bar. Neil lets him. More words exchanged, these spoken closer together.

Then, the bar hand returns with another round of drinks. LeBlanc departs, and Neil strolls back to their table.

“What’d he say?” the protagonist asks.

“A lot about the health benefits of vodka,” Neil says, plopping into his seat. He exhales like the walk from the bar to their table took days. “Did you know that vodka reduces stress, lowers blood pressure, and improves circulation?” Neil caps the words with a tip of his fresh vodka tonic. He drinks it straight from the glass without bothering with the straw.

“What did he say about anything that matters?” Ives mutters.

“Ah. Well, he and his group are staying on the top floor. But there’s some business going on underground tomorrow. He asked if I was part of the fun. I played dumb, naturally.”

“Naturally,” the protagonist deadpans.

“Rude,” Neil tells him with a pointed motion of his glass. “Anyhow,” he sets his drink down to loosen his tie. He sinks in his seat, all splayed limbs, too relaxed “We’ve got him where we want him, boys.” Neil's tie hangs open around his neck like a snake.

“Where’s that exactly?” he asks.

“Wanting to take our bait upstairs,” Ives jumps in. “So you and I can take a little uninterrupted trip to the basement.”

Neil corroborates with a finger gun. “Bingo,” he says, and swigs off his glass. Whatever face the protagonist makes leads to Neil adding, “You try doing this without a drink or two, mate.”

It crosses his mind to argue more, but he just shakes his head. He doesn’t like any of this, but what can he do about it? The plan’s already in motion. Best course at this point is to see it through.

***

Small talk at their table evaporates once again. The only audible sounds are breathing and the clank of ice in Neil’s latest drink shifting about. Its contents lower sip by sip until, in no time at all, Neil’s straw gurgles like a hungry stomach.

Our protagonist checks the scene before Neil finishes his final slurp. It’s no surprise to find LeBlanc hawk-eying their table. Neil, in particular. Chatter looks to be continuing at LeBlanc’s table, but LeBlanc makes no secret of staring. He stakes his claim with eyes across the length of the open lounge floor.

“Well.” Neil rises from his seat. “Guess that’s my cue. I’ll look out for the signal.” He’s warm in the face, gripping the back of his seat to get all the way to his feet.

Something sudden and urgent makes the protagonist grab Neil’s hand before he can leave. Ives gives him a sharp look, but he doesn’t care.

Neil freezes. He looks genuinely surprised by the sight of their fingers linked together. “You don’t have to do this,” the protagonist says.

Neil regards him for a moment longer. Whatever he decides makes him laugh. “Right, smart!” Neil enthuses. “His type will _love_ a green angle. Wish I’d thought of it.”

The protagonist wasn’t going for jealousy. He doesn’t know what angle he was going for, if he had one at all. But he feels the steel of LeBlanc’s glare from yards away. Whatever good he meant to do is backfiring spectacularly.

Neil has a spring in his step after detaching their hands and continuing to the bar. He’s intercepted before he can reach the counter by LeBlanc. It’s a beauty of a performance. Neil’s feet stutter when they meet, perfect timing to trip right into the arms of their target. LeBlanc is waiting, gathering Neil up like a venus fly trap. Neil laughs of course, vodka-fueled amusement carrying all the way to their table.

They kiss, and the protagonist should look away. 'Let him work,' Ives said. He should, but he can’t make himself, eyes burrowed into the back of LeBlanc's head. It lasts too long for such a public place. LeBlanc thinks too much of his own status, and the rest of the room buys in. No one complains or asks him to leave.

LeBlanc’s arm smothers Neil’s shoulders as he guides him to the doors. Neil goes willingly without a look back. The protagonist has a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wants to follow, insert himself in this plan like he has a nasty habit of doing.

“So,” Ives says, “fancy a tour of the grounds?”

It’s better than nothing. He nods and stands.

***

By their standards, the tour of the grounds is refreshingly uneventful. They pass without even a wayward glance from an unfriendly party. The basement maze is empty, which would cause concern if not for the many cameras taking the place of guards. These prove woefully simple to hack. A freeze frame is enough to keep the hallways looking empty as they stroll around getting the lay of the land.

Ives has seen door locks like these before on a job in Portugal. They get a few shots of the make-up, take a few more of the hallway blueprints. Alarm system isn’t anything out of the ordinary for this type of operation. Thirty second window, wires triggered up through the mainframe to the control room. They still need to find that piece, but it stands to reason that the point of operations would be upstairs. It’s the least public space of the whole building, and occupied by LeBlanc and his crew.

They’ll have to do more digging on what’s actually behind the locked doors. The protagonist has suspicions. Will it be a turnstile or another treasure chest of inverted keepsakes? It will take some rigging of the alarm system to figure that out, but they’re off to a good start.

That is, until Ives says, “What signal?”

“The signal,” the protagonist repeats. “That Neil’s looking out for. What is it? We’ve got what we need.”

Ives cocks his head. “I didn’t get a signal.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I thought you had it,” Ives says. “He was looking at you when he said he’d wait for the signal. Figured you two had something worked out.”

“Well we _didn’t_ ,” he hisses.

“Huh. Well.” Ives starts for the exit. “Guess you'd better fetch him then.”

He stares at Ives' retreating back. “What are you going to do?”

Ives shrugs, hand on the stairwell door. “Don’t know yet. Pop out for some fresh air? Hunt down another drink?” Ives continues quickly when he starts to protest. “Look, if LeBlanc’s up there, you won’t be a surprise. That whole jilted lover angle? Great sell. You’ve got a reason to head up there on the prowl. The two of us? That’ll set off way more alarms.”

He hates it, but Ives is right. Doesn’t mean he has to tell the guy. He punches the Up button for the elevator without saying a word. Ives scoffs at his silence and slips out the exit.

***

It’s a long enough ride to the top floor for our protagonist to consider what story he’s going with. Is he actually playing up the jealous lover bit? It seems silly to him, but Ives had a point. It’s better than any other flimsy excuse he has for heading upstairs. Wrong room? Tour of the grounds? Looking for someone else? None of those reasons feel as true. He handed LeBlanc the story on a silver platter. If they meet face to face, it feels like the easiest option.

His palms are clammy, unusual for him. He wipes them on his slacks before the lift doors open with the ‘ding’ of a chime.

The mood upstairs is much different from the deserted echo of the basement floor. Windows at the end of the hallway cast the corridor in a late afternoon light. Rooms open here and there, and his glances meet friendly smiles and “hellos.” Well-to-do vacationers carrying too much luggage inside or out. It’s hard to believe they’re all on LeBlanc’s payroll. Maybe some aren’t. But he keeps his guard up nonetheless all the way to the end of the hall.

He would know LeBlanc had the penthouse even if he hadn’t taken a peek at the room registry on the way downstairs. An afternoon of observation assured him that LeBlanc wouldn’t settle for less.

It’s a wood door at the end of the corridor, around a slight corner for added privacy.

He considers his options. Knock? Kick the door in? Try Neil’s cell first? It’s quiet on this side of the hall, and he wars between whether that’s a good or bad thing. Will he burst inside to realize he came too late? He isn’t sure whether he’s more worried about violence or the other option.

Neil wouldn’t do it. Probably.

It’s instinct that makes him try the doorknob before more attention-earning options. Miraculously, it’s unlocked. He twists the handle and lets himself in.

Salt air touches his nose before he feels the breeze of an open window. White curtains billow in with a gentle breeze. The far window gapes to stretches of perfect blue ocean. The room is crisp, white walls with blue trim and wood furniture matching wood floor panels. The only chaos in the order is Neil stretched across the white bedspread.

Neil’s lost his suit jacket and tie. They hang haphazardly over a wood-backed desk chair. Neil’s shirt is half-unbuttoned, shoes left by the foot of the bed. His face is still warm, but his eyes are strikingly sharp. Too sharp for the lush display Neil put on downstairs. Appearances can apparently be deceiving.

The protagonist listens for LeBlanc, but there’s no sign of anyone else in the suite. No footsteps or voices, only his own breaths mingling with Neil’s. His suspicious glance turns towards the open window.

“What, you think I chucked a bloke big as him out there?” Neil jerks a thumb towards the window and sniffs with distaste. “Come on. I’m all for dramatics, but that's a bit much even for me.”

“Where-”

“Got called out on business.” Neil shrugs. “Seemed rather remorseful about it. Can’t say I blame him.” He grins.

The protagonist rolls his eyes. “What kind of business?” he asks. “Where’s he going? What’d you find out?”

Neil sighs extravagantly and pushes himself up to sitting. It takes an exaggerated motion for his legs to swing over the side of the bed. Upright, his half-open shirt splits wider. Neils skin is baby smooth and blemished with swollen pink hickeys and bite marks.

Before Neil can answer, he interrupts. “Did he-”

“Christ, no.” Neil looks incredulous. “I told you, he got called out on business. Figured it was you lot with the signal.”

He frowns. “What signal?”

Neil looks even more confused. “ _Our_ signal. Didn’t Ives tell you? He said LeBlanc would get called off and you’d come grab me when it was time to hit the road.”

“Fucking Ives,” he mutters, not at all surprised.

Neil isn’t either, by the way he starts to laugh. “So, what? You thought you were coming up here to rescue little old me?” He chuckles. “Guess I should say thank you. My hero.”

“You can keep going,” the protagonist says. He's distracted, eyes on the bite marks dressing Neil’s collar. On the darker bruise sucked into his neck. On the finger-mussed waves of his hair.

“Ah.” Neil reclines on propped hands, back arched in a perfect line. “I was quite frightened, you know. Truly. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what I would have done. Had sex, possibly. Decent sex. But not great sex, and that’s the real kicker. I tend to prefer the good stuff. You saved me from settling. Hand-to-heart, thank you.” Neil smiles up at him. He knows exactly what he looks like.

“That’s good enough,” the protagonist says. His eyes flit back to the neck bruise.

Neil cocks his head, and it looks like a challenge. “You're sure?” he asks. “I can keep at it. Ives said it was a good distraction he set up. Mighty good. Should take some time.” He raises a brow.

Our protagonist kisses the smirk from Neil’s face. It may not be the appropriate move, and he'll probably regret it later. But it's the one that feels right. He's learned to trust his instincts ever since he first heard the word 'tenet.' With time in constant flux, instincts are all he has.

For everything that’s led to this moment, Neil still reacts like he’s surprised. He stiffens long enough for reality to hit. The protagonist thinks Neil might pull back.

But Neil chuckles and slings an arm around his shoulders. Yanks until the protagonist is on top of Neil, hands on either side to keep from toppling onto the bed. Neil hums approval when fingers drag through his hair, molding it to fit his hand instead of somebody else’s.

“Funny,” Neil says when he’s allowed to catch his breath. “Didn't see this coming. Guess I should have, but-”

He kisses the surprise from Neil’s mouth, a brush of contact before he stands up straight. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go.”

“You’re serious?”

He’s very serious, about getting out of here and about continuing what they’ve started. If there’s going to be a next part, it sure as hell won’t be in LeBlanc’s suite.

Neil rolls his eyes, but he seems to get it because he doesn’t raise much more of a fight. Just huffs as he springs off the mattress and fetches his shoes and missing clothes. Shrugging into his suit jacket, Neil buttons his shirt over the evidence of LeBlanc’s handiwork. Neil puts his hands out in a Vanna White display.

The protagonist takes Neil by the front of the shirt and pulls him close. Neil seems more than happy to crowd into his space. Hands stray under the protagonist's jacket as their mouths meet again. Neil is warm in his space, eager but deferring. He lets himself be kissed and his body be guided towards the door.

“Later?” Neil asks when his back is inches from hitting it.

“Later,” he agrees, and as long as time cooperates he won’t break his word. It’s one of his favorite things about linear timelines. He can make a promise and hold to it.

This is one instance when he definitely means to see ‘later’ through to the end.


End file.
